<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Together Alone by Anonymous</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23505409">Together Alone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Narcos (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Brazilian Reader, F/M, Forbidden Love, Reader-Insert, criminal informant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:47:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,953</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23505409</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Horacio comes to you in the late hours, when the darkness on the streets of Medellín is just starting to recede with the coming dawn. He’s still dressed in his uniform and you widen your eyes at him in furious admonition, hurrying him inside before anyone can see the silver gleaming on his chest, the damning badge that stands between you always.<br/>Told in memories interwoven with the present, this is the story of Colonel Horacio Carrillo's love affair with his criminal informant.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Horacio Carrillo/Reader, Horacio Carrillo/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Together Alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic is a response to a request I received for a Carrillo x Brazilian reader story.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>“...A clandestine life shared with a man who was never completely hers, and in which they often knew the sudden explosion of happiness, did not seem to her a condition to be despised.” (Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez)</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Horacio comes to you in the late hours, when the darkness on the streets of Medellín is just starting to recede with the coming dawn. He’s still dressed in his uniform and you widen your eyes at him in furious admonition, hurrying him inside before anyone can see the silver gleaming on his chest, the damning badge that stands between you always.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You round on him in the front hallway of your tiny apartment, speaking in a whisper, “Meu deus! What are you thinking, Horacio? What if someone saw you?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It takes you a minute to calm down, to steady your frenetic heartbeat enough that you notice the way he’s standing rigid, frozen in place--but his hands are shaking. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Meu coração,” your voice wavers. “What is it?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s dark inside your apartment. Horacio’s face is in shadow. You watch the lines of his broad shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Pablo Escobar is dead.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Your knees suddenly can’t support you and you fall back, leaning your weight against the wall, a hand to your chest. You feel for Horacio--you know what an enormous relief of his burden this must be. But you have to ask one thing first.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And...my brother?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Horacio closes his eyes, a muscle ticks in his jaw, he answers you in that gravelly-yet-soft voice you’ve grown to love, “Arrested, mi amor. He’s in custody. He’s safe.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>***</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You meet Horacio Carrillo years earlier. Back when everything still feels simple, small, harmless. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Your brother convinces you to come with him to Colombia, to Medellín: the heart of his new partner’s business. You’ve lived in Brazil your entire life, under the loving--if controlling--watch of your father. When Enzo tells you his plan: to get you into university, for both of you to live the lives you deserve far away from your overbearing father--well, you let yourself believe him even if you’ve never approved of what he gets up to out in the jungle. Enzo is your twin, though everyone who knows you always exclaims over your polar differences. You are the straight-laced bookworm. Enzo is the go-getter, the charmer, the hustler. As his twin you would think you’d be immune to his charm but--his enthusiasm is infectious.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And that’s what leads you here, to the moment you meet your future lover. Lined up with three others in a dark alleyway, watching the intimidating police colonel pace back and forth before you, deciding your fate.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So…” his voice is gravelly but lighter than you would have imagined. Somehow it only adds to the calm, controlled violence that seems to lurk beneath the surface of his too-tight uniform shirt. “We know your vehicle was seen camped down the street from the roadblock. We know you tipped off Pablo’s sicarios and caused me and my men to waste our time. What we don’t know is...which one of you is smart enough to see you’re on the losing side?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Your Spanish has improved exponentially during your months in this country but you still find yourself focusing with unusual intensity in order to parse the Colonel’s words. Sweat breaks out on the back of your neck and you shift nervously from foot to foot. You’re going to kill Enzo. He said he’d send someone to pick you up when your study group ran late--he didn’t tell you he was sending <em>criminals</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The Colonel goes down the line, questioning each of you. By the time he reaches you he’s sent the others away in handcuffs. They refused to cooperate. Now it’s just you and he, alone except for the officer stationed at the entrance to the alley.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His eyes scan your outfit. You’re wearing blue jeans and a nice sweater your father gave you last Christmas. He narrows his eyes as he addresses you, “You’re different from the others…”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>How much should you say? <em>Caralho! Enzo is such an idiot.</em> He’s never prepared you for something like this.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Well, the truth then. You’re a terrible liar...</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I don’t really...know them, sir,” you try to sound respectful but your eyes are locked onto the holstered gun at his side. “Are you going to arrest me?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Maybe,” he answers breezily. “Or maybe you can help me. You don’t know these people? How did you end up in a car with them?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Meu Deus. </em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“My...friend sent them to pick me up from school. I’m a student, sir. I don’t know anything about a roadblock or--”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I believe you,” he interrupts, putting his hands in his pockets and observing you with a look of cautious interest. “Tell me about you friend.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>***</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“He’s really safe?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You’ve dreamed of this for so long. The end of lying, of secrecy, of fear. Enzo will think it a betrayal, but at least he’ll be alive to hate you. Pablo was a madman by the end. And your brother had no more friends left. There was no other way.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Horacio comes to you, stepping into your arms and letting his forehead drop to lean against yours, “Really, Y/N. It’s finally over.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You turn your head toward his, just a fraction of an inch, an invitation. Horacio slides into the kiss like he’s coming home. His soft lips caress against yours, his tongue flicking out to trace the line of your mouth, delving inside and brushing against your own. Once his kisses felt forbidden, dangerous. Now kissing Horacio feels like the most natural thing in the world.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>***</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The first time he kisses you is the first time he asks you to wear a wire. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You’ve given Carrillo enough solid tips for him to trust you as an informant. <em>As an informant, mind you</em>. Colonel Carrillo doesn’t fully trust anyone. The deal is you’ll help him. But you can’t give up your brother. Deep down you know that one day you’ll have to make a choice. A choice to save your brother by betraying him. But it’s not that day yet.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I brought something for you,” Carrillo says, warming his hands on the mug of coffee you’ve provided. He’s sitting at the little kitchen table in your apartment. Street clothes. No gun. It’s still risky but better than meeting in public. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You sit down across from him with your own cup of coffee and you regard him with a surprised smile, “Really?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrillo’s lips quirk into a sardonic grin as he pulls out the wire and transmitter, placing them on the table between you. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Next time I’ll bring flowers,” he jokes. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You swallow against your suddenly dry throat, “I thought we already discussed this.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrillo reaches across the table and takes your hand in his. His calloused fingers rub soothing circles into your skin and he looks into your eyes with that intensity with which you’ve grown so familiar. This man is dedicated to his mission, some might even say obsessed. You wonder what would happen if you ever came between him and his goals. The thought sends a tiny shiver down your spine. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Look. I know you’re nervous. But nothing is going to happen to you, okay? I’ll show you how to put it on so no one will notice. This party you told me about? You said you think Escobar might even be there? This is a chance we can’t pass up. I need you, Y/N.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You inhale sharply. Those words--I need you--his hand holding yours. You look into his molten gaze and try to read this mercurial man. Does he know how you think of him? Over the months of working for him, slowly earning his grudging trust, living together in the loneliness of your secret--you’re falling in love with him. And if he’s using that to get you to do this…</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Alright,” you answer, your voice cracking. “What do I do?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You show him the summer dress you’re planning to wear to the barbecue. It’s floral, sleeveless, with a diaphanous bell skirt and a modest knee-length hemline. He regards it critically.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Do you have a sweater you can wear over it?” he murmurs, fingering the thin fabric.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You shake your head and reply with nervous irritation, “No! That will be suspicious, Horacio! It’s the middle of the Summer. It will be hot out…”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s the first time you’ve used his given name, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His brow is knit with concentration. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It will work, you’ll just need to hide the transmitter some place…” he coughs and actually looks away with the hint of a blush on his cheeks. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>If Carrillo’s uncomfortable it’s nothing to your mortification. You grab the wire from his hands and march furiously into your bathroom. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Foda-se,” you grumble under your breath. <em>Fuck it.</em> This can’t get any more awkward right?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You emerge from the bathroom a few moments later, transmitter nestled securely in your biggest, granniest panties. The wire is taped across your torso, as Carrillo instructed, with the tiny microphone hidden worryingly close to the neckline of the dress.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You look up at Carrillo, anxiety rolling off of you in waves, “Are you sure no one will notice?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrillo doesn’t respond right away. His eyes are glued to the pleasing swell of your curves beneath the thin fabric of the dress. It’s the first time he’s shown any kind of weakness to your femininity and you preen a little at the thought--even if you’re still quaking with worry over wearing a wire in the presence of violence criminals. That sobering thought is enough to flood you with fear once more and you actually tremble.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“H-Horacio? They won’t be able to notice?” you repeat.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrillo takes a step forward. He adjusts the neckline of your dress, letting his fingers just skim along the path of the wire, between your breasts, over the soft curve of your belly. Your lips part and you release a silent gasp at his touch. He’s watching you with those intense eyes again.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says, his voice a soft, rasping whisper in the silence of your apartment.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“But you can’t promise--”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Your words are cut short when he takes you by the shoulders and plants a kiss on your lips. He’s warm and soft and firm against you. His kiss is surprising. He’s tender and tentative, pressing a few soft pecks to your full lips before allowing himself to deepen the kiss and dart out his tongue. You melt into him, hanging limp in his hands. If this is manipulation--if he’s doing this to claim your loyalty so he can complete his mission--well...you don’t care.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>***</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You fall into bed. Articles of clothing discarded like wilted flower petals on your path to the bedroom. Horacio still wears the cooled sweat of the chase on his skin, his muscles ache and he’s more exhausted than he’s ever felt. But he needs this. He needs to anchor himself in your body, your gentle love, to remind himself <em>why</em>. Why he’s fought and schemed and betrayed his morals for years. For his country, yes. For the people, yes. The victims, of course. But also--also for this moment of quiet, soft surrender, when he can finally take you as his own for all the world to know. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Querida,” you sigh into his lips. You lay your hands on his shaking shoulders, “Be with me now, amor. Shhhh.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I need you now,” he responds in a husky voice that’s barely controlled. “Right now.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You have me, Horacio.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And he does.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>***</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrillo never tells you if he gleans anything useful from the recording that you risked your life to obtain at your brother’s party. He kisses you, sends you out to risk your life, and then you don’t hear from him for weeks. Living this double life is lonely and Carrillo--your handler as he calls himself--is the only person in whom you can confide. But he’s too busy enacting whatever insane mission your intel has enabled. You just pray it doesn’t get him killed. Or Enzo. Or you.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tonight you’re going to forget about all that. You’re out with friends, dancing, drinking, and acting as if you don’t have the weight of the world on your shoulders for once. It feels good, although you can’t help but think about what it would feel like to be this carefree and open with Horacio. Horacio, your brother’s enemy...your boss...the man with whom you can’t be seen in public without fearing for your secret--your life. What would it be like to dance with him?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As if you’ve manifested him with your thoughts, Carrillo appears at the bar, his eyes trained on you with scorching intensity. You’re caught in his gaze, your hips gyrating to the music, your dance partner’s hands skimming over your waist even as you broadcast your yearning, your desire, to the man across the room.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You’re unsurprised to find Carrillo lurking in the shadows outside your apartment door when you return home later that night. You’d spent hours dancing and watching him, feeling emboldened by the distance between you and the crowded room. Now it’s just the two of you, hurrying into the sanctuary of your apartment, together and alone once again. He looms over you in the dark entryway. The fact of his large, powerful body is impossible to ignore. You feel yourself drawn to him like the sea to the shore, aching and rocking to meet with him in a crash like the waves breaking on the sand. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“When I saw you with that guy tonight…” Horacio grumbles, backing you up against the wall and setting his hands on your hips--claiming you in the places your dance partner had touched.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know,” you whisper, letting your own hands trace up the solid muscles of his belly, his chest. “I wanted to be dancing with you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He looks into your eyes, he doesn’t need to say the words--you can’t dance together. You can’t go to dinner or get drinks or even take a walk together. If anyone saw you, the sister of one of Pablo Escobar’s most trusted associates, consorting with Colonel Horacio Carrillo of the Colombian National Police...well.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But here in the quiet darkness of your apartment you can have him for your own. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I want you, Horacio. I know we can’t be together but…”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Your words unleash him. He smashes his lips into yours, capturing you in a fierce, bruising kiss. Horacio wants you too. He wants you for his own. Wants to take you out dancing and show you off to his friends. But he can’t. Not until this is all over. For now, all he has is this. So he’ll claim you, mark you with his body, his hands, his lips. And one day--one day…</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You make love in your bed, in the soft light of the street lights filtering in through the window blinds. Horacio is somehow gentle and rough, fast and slow. He loves you thoroughly with a reverence and a dedication to your pleasure that makes you want to weep. But he is also intent on leaving every mark he can on your skin. You have bruises on your hips and the red blemishes of kisses and bites on your shoulders and breasts. When it’s over you lay in his arms, shaking and clinging to him, afraid to let him go because you know when he leaves this place he walks out into danger. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I wish I could keep you, meu coração,” you whisper, the words dancing over his naked chest. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He heaves a sigh and tightens his arms around you, “Me too, mi corazón.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>***</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When Horacio enters you it’s like it was the first time. Gentle and rough, urgent and languid, every contradiction that lives in the heart of your messed up relationship, all at once. You feel a bubble of happiness expand inside you and you’re terrified. Because you’ve spent the last two years quelling your hopes, quieting your foolish wants. You’ve spent your whole time with this wonderful, brave, beautiful man knowing in your heart that he can’t truly be yours. Not while his enemy lives.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And now? On the night that he comes to you with the news that it’s all over, that you can finally rest, you can be together--for real? You’re scared. Scared that maybe none of this is real. Maybe he only loved you because of what you were to him: a secret key to unlock his enemy’s weaknesses. What are you now? What can you offer this man?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Horacio moves over you, rocking his hips against yours, sighing your name as he drops kisses to your forehead. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mi amor,” he cries, his release quivering inside you as he drops his head into the crook of your neck. “I love you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You turn your head to watch him. His eyes have already drifted shut and his breathing is evening out. He’s utterly unguarded and comfortable in this place you’ve created together. As you watch him fall asleep you let your hand drift down to press against your lower stomach and the secret inside that you’ve kept for ten weeks. You imagine you can feel the little one shifting inside you, although it’s far too soon for that.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Your lips curl into a hopeful smile as you think about the world your child will inherit thanks to the bravery of its father...and mother.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>